


the cold dark night

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Tales from the Shelterverse [12]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Nightmares, sleep over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between Act I and II, Hawke camps out at Fenris'</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cold dark night

"Whoever is out there, you should be aware this place is defended!"

A now-familiar voice, with it's faint Fereldan tang, called back. "Just me, Fenris."

He flared brighter and could see her, hovering just at the edge of the manse's entry. He dropped his sword from its raised and ready position to let the tip sink into the rotting wood at his feet. "It is the middle of the night, Hawke."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Is there trouble?" She was in armor and he could see the gleam of the daggers at her back, but that was a sensible way to stroll the dark streets. It did not mean necessarily that she was in danger.

"No, nothing like that." She set down her small kit and a bedroll next to her foot, after pushing aside a thicket of toadstools that had sprouted up between the broken black marble tiles. "I was just wondering…"

"Yes?"

"Wondering if you'd mind if I kipped on your floor. Just for tonight."

"You…you want to sleep…here?" Fenris was blank with surprise and Hawke, grinned crookedly up at him.

"Yeah. I'll just push off a skeleton and take up a few feet of your balcony, if you don't mind it. Brought my bedroll."

He pushed his bangs aside. "Has something happened?" The Hawkes had recently moved into the villa that Leandra had been angling to repurchase for months. There were a half dozen bedrooms. Hawke had even offered him one.

"No. It's fine. Just…"

"What?"

"Mother made arrangements to have the floors stripped and the whole place smells like lye and vitriol. I'm afraid to light a candle." She chuckled, darkly. "Look. Varric's off chasing a lead on his bastard of a brother and 'Bela's got company for the night. Mother hared off to a houseparty with one of her old friends who was just so pleased to find she was back in town after so long, gracious." Hawke's mobile features twisted sourly as she mimicked the Kirkwall noble cant.

It bothered him that she had traipsed all the way to Lowtown on her own. Was that a bruise or a shadow across her temple? "You did not want to go?"

Hawke raised her eyebrow at him and after a beat replied, "Not invited. But not particularly, no."

His silence had made her uncomfortable and she hoisted her bag back to her shoulder, "hey, it's no problem I'll just head to the Rose…"

"No, Hawke. It is…of course, you are welcome to stay. If you need to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please. Come up."

Her shoulders slumped and weariness he hadn't seen before poured off of her. "Thanks, Fenris."

He waited as she trotted up the wide, graceful stairs to join him. At the top, she pointed to a bare corner of reasonably stable flooring. "Look, that spot's fine, you won't even..."

"No. Hawke…if you don't mind sharing, I have managed to clean up the study since the last time you were here." He pointed to the room that he'd occupied for the better part of a year now. She'd visited him before, when he'd become ill not long after he'd joined her. He'd been sleeping in a small bedroom of the west wing, but that section of the roof had partially collapsed while they were in the Deep Roads.

"Are…I don't want to intrude." Her arched brows drew in.

"It is not an intrusion. And you are less likely to be woken by spiders or rats than out here."

"By all means, then." She followed him through the opened doors.

Hawke glanced around, her expression carefully neutral. Fenris hastily rolled an empty bottle under the desk with his foot. His room was sparse, a cot and the desk shoved into corners, a pile of books that he'd gathered from the other rooms in futile hopes of gleaning some information about Danarius from them. His armor rack and the rack for his great sword stood empty. He replaced the sword, giving her a moment to adjust to her surroundings.

There was a dusty tapestry covered chair in front of the fire and a low table with a cracked top bearing the detritus of his supper. Hawke dropped her bag by the rug, there. It was moth eaten, but had once been fine, the thick wool and silk still bearing streaks of bright color despite the exposure to the elements in the bedroom he'd dragged it from. This room was dry though, the ceiling and roof above still intact. It was, also far cleaner than the rest, the bare wooden planks of the floor swept clean and a faint scent of sandalwood incense lingering that banished most of the damp rot that pervaded the rest of the manse.

"It is not…"

"It's nice, Fenris. Perfect. I appreciate it, really." Hawked grinned at him and…no it hadn't been a shadow, there was a definite bruise across her cheekbone and up her temple. And a faint bloody smear, too, on the side of her hand as if she'd wiped a bloody nose clean. "After all, you saw Gamlen's place, right?"

It was true. His dwelling was little worse than her uncle's. "Was there a fight?"

She snorted, "Fenris, there is always a fight."

"I have a healing potion…"

"Don't worry about it. Got it covered." She nudged her pack with her foot. "Hey, I'm pretty beat…do you mind?"

"No…forgive me. There is a…" he pointed her to a doorway just past the desk. "The water is fresh."

"Thanks. I'll wash up and…really…just do what you normally do, yeah?"

He attempted to do so. He'd been tending the edge of his blade, but that was finished. He picked up the scrap of bone and gristle that had been his dinner and threw it out of the window before he drew the sash, listening to the splash of water and clink of glass as she put herself aright.

He would normally stretch and then lie on the cot and wait for sleep to claim him…or drag a bottle from the crate he kept beneath it. Perhaps Hawke would share a drink? He glanced around, with a sense of futility. There were no tumblers he could share from.

"You usually stand around your room staring into the dark?" She was smirking, he could hear it in her voice. "That's an activity I can get behind, I'm sure…but I'd rather just have a lie down."

"I was wondering if you would like to share a drink."

"Oh." She stood up straighter and he could see the soft reflection of a healing salve smeared across her face. She'd shucked out of her jerkin as well, to reveal the thick linen tunic she wore beneath. "Uh, surely. If you'd like."

He confessed, "I haven't a glass to offer."

There was the truer, half smile that he saw rarely. "Nah, that's alright. I've drunk from the bottle before, Fenris." Her brows lifted, "Oh, wait. I've got my gear." She knelt down and tugged a small fat disk from one of the innumerable pockets. "Found this at the Dalish camp." She tapped it and it telescoped out into the shape of a small tumbler. "Ingenious, isn't it?"

"You _found_ it?" He asked, rummaging in his crate for a decent vintage.

She shrugged, crooked smile getting wider beneath wide, innocent eyes. "Hey, we regularly smoke out all sorts of nasty things from their mountain so they can do…whatever it is they're still doing there instead of rolling on their merry way. I'm not that fussed about the occasional thing they misplace."

The cork pulled out smoothly and Fenris took an appraising breath before he held the bottle out to her. He poured it carefully into the odd cup, surprised to see not a drop spilled from between the rings. "Hmm."

"It works, Fenris. I did test it." She clinked the edge of her cup against the mouth of his bottle before she curled her feet under her to sit on the edge of the rug.

He hesitated before he took the chair across from her. "I should see if there are other chairs…"

"Not on my account, Fenris. Though…you've not had anyone to visit?"

"It is easier to meet elsewhere, I've found."

"Yeah. I prefer the Hanged Man to my place, too." She sipped at the wine and Fenris saw just a flash of distaste on her face before she swallowed. Had it gone off? He took a mouthful and let it sit against his tongue.

No, it was a fine vintage. Not the Aggregio, but little else was. He looked up to find her watching him, curiously.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I was…what are you doing?"

…. "Drinking?"

"No, you were…breathing?"

"Yes, I find that the sane thing to do, every few moments."

She rolled her eyes at him. "No…with the wine…why did you hold it in your mouth like that?"

"Ah. It allows you to taste it, more clearly." She took another cautious sip, blank-faced this time and clearly aping his own actions, breathing in.

And coughing, the wine sputtered from her lips. "Ugh."

"You don't like it."

She shrugged,"I just never developed a taste for it. That's all they serve in Hightown, it seems though. I thought…well, you said it was good. So..." She took another sip. "No…I get it. Yeah, I can taste…other things besides old grapes?"

 _Old grapes_. "Oak. Ivy. Blackberry?"

"Uh…well, something bitter like ivy, I suppose." She took another sip. "Ivy is toxic, you know?"

He couldn't help the laugh and she pushed her foot against his, "Hey now, don't make fun!" He went still and she jerked her stockinged foot back.

"Void. Fenris, I'm…" She'd tucked her feet under her arse again.

"No. Hawke, its fine."

"I know you don't…"

They had, in the Deep Roads, shared warmth and bodily proof that they were all still alive. But once back, she had treated him with careful distance again.

"It is fine. You are not…you would not take advantage."

"No. I would not. Not ever." He was unused to seeing her so solemn. Hawke tended to either be mockingly sweet, violently amused, or grim. Solemn and gentle were rare and the tension in her body read as though she was worried she'd crossed some line. He reached out with his own foot and tapped her toes.

"It is alright."

And there it was again, the soft, sweet smile with a shyly ducked chin. Followed rapidly by a yawn that nearly split her face.

"Ugh…sorry."

"No. You said you were tired. As am I."

"Yeah." Hawke set the cup on the table and he recorked the bottle as she flipped her bedroll out. "G'd night, Fenris."

"Good night, Hawke." He unstrapped his armor and set the chestplate aside. By the time he'd set it all out on his rack, she was turned on her side and facing the fire.

He'd been stretched out for a few minutes when he heard her shift. "Fenris?"

"Yes, Hawke?"

"We can get up to the Coast tomorrow? Aveline said she had a couple of leads on some slavers that are basing out of that cave off to the north."

"That would be a good morning's work."

"Alright. Dawn, then."

The sounds of the house filled the space between them, soft cries of the bats in the attic and the creaking wood as the rafters and beams let off heat into the night.

The fire popping was the last thing he recalled. The Fade reached for him. And his memories…he was…

_She was reaching for him and that wicked smile as magic laced her long, clawed fingers with green flame..._

Frantic scrabbling woke him up; sweat dripping down his back as he flared to break the dark grip. An hour? Two? Later.

She'd leapt to her feet and pushed herself into the corner by the fireplace.

"Hawke?"

There was a beat before she answered, "f..Fenris?" Her voice was soft in the dark.

"You are well. It was a dream."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sorry." A flash of metal in the light he was throwing was followed by a shush as she replaced her knife in it's sheath.

"No...I was. You as well?"

She took a shaky breath, forcing a laugh. "Well we're a pair. You need me to go?"

"No. No…it would happen were you here or not."

"Didn't mean to…"

"I needed to be woken."

"Me, too."

He kept his markings alight until she'd stirred the fire and curled back up on her blanket.

"Shall we try again?"

"Guess so. I…don't usually." She'd laid her head on her knees and was staring into the fire as it flared with a breath of wind down the flue.

"That's a habit to break. You must take what you can, I've found."

"You go ahead."

He watched her back for a few minutes, until a thought occurred to him. He cleared his throat. "I…eventually thought of a story."

She twisted around to face him, the shadows hiding her features. "A _what_?"

He spoke quickly, before he could regret it. "You recall when we were trapped? The mage and you and Varric took turns telling stories."

"And you couldn't think of one?"

"I did. Perhaps..."

She paused before she asked, "So tell me your story, Fenris."

He pushed himself up to sit. "You know that tea you are so fond of?"

"The spicebush stuff?"

"Yes. It grows on Seheron."

"That explains the expense."

"Yes. Well. I was there…for a time."

Rolling onto her stomach to face him, she propped her chin up on her hands and Fenris told her of the fields and dense jungles of Seheron, the scented mist, and the people who lived there. Free despite their battles.

And maybe one day, it would be true of them as well.


End file.
